


Concentric Circles

by lil_1337



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Angst, Humor, Introspection, M/M, Post canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-09
Updated: 2013-05-09
Packaged: 2017-12-10 21:02:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/790134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lil_1337/pseuds/lil_1337
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the years after the eve wars the pilots have begun to move forward and think about the future and the paths they want their lives to take.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Concentric Circles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scacao](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=scacao).



> Written for the GWficexchange.
> 
>  **Recipient:** [](http://scacao.livejournal.com/profile)[**scacao**](http://scacao.livejournal.com/)  
> 

**Pilot 05 – Chang, Wufei:**  
  
“It's hot.” Sally pulled off her cap and wiped a dusty hand across her forehead. It left a light trail where it passed, the sweat turning it into mud. The air was arid and filled with a reddish brown sand that a passing wind storm had kicked up. The jeep, Preventers issue and therefore completely utilitarian, was parked on the top of a mesa overlooking what appeared to be an abandoned ranch.  
  
Next to her Wufei lowered his binoculars, the most accurate long range pair that money could buy or Heero could invent. “We're in the desert.” There was a time, not too long ago, when his voice would have dripped with disdain at the obviousness of her comment, but not now and not with Sally. She knew all his still healing sore spots and wasn't above poking them to bring him down a notch or three when she felt he needed it. Working with her might be bad for his ego, but in exchange his social skills and abilities as a field medic had greatly improved.  
  
She snorted then resettled the cap on her head, tipping the bill down to keep the majority of the sun's glare out of her eyes. “See anything interesting?”  
  
He raised the binoculars back to his eyes and made a minute adjustment in the focus as he scanned the area around the decrepit-looking outbuildings. “No.” At the sound of restless shifting next to him he continued. “The area appears to be exactly the same as it has been for the last two hours except for the movement of several jackrabbits and what appears to be a predatory bird of unknown species. When did Commander Une say the meet was expected to occur?”  
  
“Forty five minutes from now.” Sally stretched, then cracked the seal on a bottle of water. She held it out to him and then took the binoculars as if by prearranged agreement.  
  
Wufei frowned and then drank, downing half the bottle in a single pull. “Either they're late or they aren't coming.”  
  
“Maybe we got bad intel.” Sally's eyes never left the binoculars as she did a long slow sweep of the valley below. “We should be seeing signs by now. The road is all dirt for the last fifty miles are so.”  
  
“They might be flying.” Wufei resisted the urge to dump the second half of the bottle over his head, finishing it off instead. Carefully he turned and deposited it in the trash bag behind his seat. His time as a Gundam pilot had taught him well about securing his trash and making sure he left no sign that he had ever been there.  
  
Sally shrugged, though what he could see of her face looked thoughtful. “There are a couple of places you could put down a helicopter. Maybe even a small plane if the pilot is used to landing where there is no airstrip.”  
  
“Maxwell or Barton could do easily enough even with a larger plane.”  
  
“Most people aren't ex-Gundam pilots nor do they have the skills you five have.” Sally lowered the binoculars and gave Wufei an appraising look. “Is there something about this assignment that you aren't telling me?”  
  
“No. We attended the same briefing and I haven't received any additional information that I have not shared.”  
  
She gave him one last look before raising the binoculars again. “Okay, then. It just kind of surprised me that you mentioned Duo and Trowa out of the blue like that.”  
  
Next to her Sally could hear the subtle slide of cloth as well as the squeak of leather as Wufei shifted in his seat. She had no doubt if she turned to look at him again that he would be leaning back, eyes closed as he tried to catch a power nap until it was his turn to do surveillance again. He'd learned well the survival instincts of a soldier: never pass up a chance to eat, sleep or pee because it might be a long time before the opportunity presented itself again.  
  
There was a silence of several moments before Wufei spoke, his words obviously chosen with care. “The four of them have been on my mind lately. Perhaps because of the time of year.” He was quiet again only the sound of slow steady breathing marked that he was even there. “Winner keeps in touch and through him I know that Maxwell is back on L2 while Barton is traveling with The Circus. He's had no luck with finding Yuy though that is not likely to stop him from trying. Winner is tenacious, particularly in instances like this where people he cares about are involved.”  
  
“That could describe any or all of you five.” Sally closed her eyes for the space of a second then reopened them before adjusting the focus on the binoculars.  
  
“And you.”  
  
“I'm just plain old stubborn.”  
  
“You are aware, no doubt, that the words are synonyms.” There was an undertone of sarcasm that hinted at a dry humor kept carefully contained.  
  
Sally could feel the weight of his look even though she couldn't actually see him. He had the piercing gaze of someone who did not suffer fools easily even for the sake of humor. Self depreciation was simply not allowed for any reason. At least not from other people. Though she had to admit that Wufei's sense of his value as an agent of peace had increased quite a bit in the time that she had known him. While he still didn't have nearly enough respect for himself as a human being she continued to hope that time would help to heal some of those wounds as well. Youth carried with it a level of resiliency that made growth possible in places and ways that were often surprising.  
  
“Someone once told me that words are like tools and it is imperative to use the correct one for the job because shades of meaning color each one.”  
  
“Whoever that was must have been a great scholar of immeasurable wisdom. You should listen to him and take his words to heart.”  
  
She could hear the amusement in his voice and she knew if she looked there would be a small hint of a smile tugging at his lips. The kid she had known during the wars would have taken great affront at having his words quoted back at him, but the young man who was now her partner of almost a year was much more in touch with the aforementioned scholar he had once been. His love of debate and verbal sparring had helped them pass the time on more than one mind-numbingly boring surveillance detail.  
  
There was a pointed reply on the tip of her tongue, but before she could spit it out the steady thump thump of high stealth chopper-blades reached them, carried on the high-powered wind of a passing dust devil. Almost immediately after the craft came into view, skimming low over the bluffs on the other side of the valley. It circled to the west, coming in low and fast before dropping down to land in what was once a large corral. By the time it was on the ground Sally had the camera out and was taking pictures. She was careful to capture both the license on the helicopter and the faces of the men descending from it.  
  
Their mission was a simple one; get in, verify that the meet was happening and get pictures if possible, then get out. Leave no traces and take no prisoners. This was a small part of a larger operation that was aimed at taking out both organizations. It was the biggest ongoing investigation on Preventers caseload and because of the money and power involved the evidence had to be undeniable before arrests were made and accusations leveled. The results of this case could and probably would make or break the reputation of the fledgling organization, and Wufei felt a swelling sense of pride as well as a feeling of peace knowing that he had found his place doing something that would make a difference in the world.  
  
  
 **Pilot 04 – Winner, Quatre Raberba**  
  
  
Quatre pushed the hard hat back on his head and gratefully accepted the steaming mug of coffee. He took a small sip and let the liquid paint a path of warmth down his throat and into his stomach. It helped to burn away the early morning fog that was the result of a long shuttle ride and not enough sleep. Still, he was here and that was what mattered. L4 was far across the expanses of space along with the responsibilities of being the CEO of Winner Enterprises Inc. This was good because that was where he wanted them: distant and unable to interfere with his plans.  
  
“We did not expect you so early this morning Master Quatre. As late as your shuttle arrived last night, I thought you might want to take the time to sleep.” Rashid smiled indulgently as he watched his charge down the coffee as quickly as the temperature would allow.  
  
Quatre blushed, his casual shrug not even beginning to mitigate the delight sparkling in his eyes. “I slept on the flight.” At Rashid's raised eyebrow and disbelieving look he glanced down then back up. “I slept some. Enough for one short night. I'm sure tonight I will make up for it.”  
  
“A full day of physical work does do that. It tires out the body as well as the mind.” Rashid didn't bother to try to hide the knowing look that took in the dark circles under Quatre's eyes and the restless energy that radiated off him.  
  
“That sounds like exactly what the doctor ordered.” Quatre's smile brightened as he watched the men beginning to straggle in. The line of workers gravitated to the industrial sized coffee maker like ants to a picnic. Occasional bursts of laughter punctuated the early morning stillness and added a human element to the sounds of a world just beginning to wake. “I can't wait to get started.”  
  
Rashid chuckled and flipped up the top page on his clipboard to determine where Quatre's skills would be best put to use. “We'll see if you are so eager tomorrow morning when your muscles begin to protest being put to such hard use.”  
  
“Oh, I think I will.” Quatre grinned, an air of wicked confidence dispelling his usual look of genuine sincerity.  
  
“Would you like to put a small wager on that?” Rashid smirked and nodded at the mostly empty mug in Quatre's hand. “Say ten credits against premium coffee for all the workers while you are here?”  
  
“You mean they aren't getting premium now?” Quatre looked suspiciously into his cup, a mock scandalized look on his face. “How about if I do the coffee and we can bet for who will pick up dinner tomorrow night?” He stifled a yawn using the back of his hand in an attempt to hide it. “Send the bill to my hotel and I'll make sure it gets paid.”  
  
“As always it is a pleasure doing business with you Master Quatre.”  
  
Quatre snorted a laugh, then raised his mug to his lips to drink.  
  
The construction site spread out in front of him and he studied it over the rim of his mug as he listened to Rashid listing off the things that needed to be done. Foundations had already been laid and about sixty percent of the houses had been framed. Crews of plumbers, electricians, and drywall hangers would arrive later in the day to start the process of turning the basic structures into sturdy houses-- houses that would then be sold to veterans for a markedly lower price than what the market was asking.  
  
This was one of Quatre's pet charitable projects, and he had not only put Rashid in charge of overseeing it so there would be no cut corners or substandard materials but had also opted to spend his two weeks of vacation on site helping out where he could. He could read schematics and blueprints, but more than that he was quite capable of hammering a nail, tightening a bolt, measuring a piece of wood that needed to be cut, or being a helping hand where ever one was needed. He didn't care how what the job was as long as it allowed him to be part of the work.  
  
His job at WEI gave him plenty of opportunities to do good for both Earth and the colonies, but it wasn't the same as rolling up his sleeves and getting his hands dirty. Tinkering with his cars or spending time on his knees weeding his garden wasn't the same. At the end of the day they really didn't make a difference in the world or help to mitigate the blood that still stained his hands. There was so much to be done, so many people who needed help to procure the basics of life – food, shelter, and safety. Throwing money at the problems only went so far towards the cost of redeeming his soul.  
  
Working part time for the Preventers as well as being the staunchest advocate for the organization helped as well. Peace was tenuous and humanity had been dancing the endless waltz for much too long to think that a few years without fighting would be enough to change the course of the future. It would take generations upon generations before non-violent solutions were as ingrained as the instinct to strike out and destroy. Until then there needed to be people who would act as protectors for and guardians of the fledgling peace.  
  
With his coffee cup now down to the dregs at the bottom, Quatre finished it off before handing the mug back to Rashid. After carefully scanning the immediate area for imminent danger he pulled off the hard hat and adjusted the straps, tightening them so that it no longer wobbled on his head like a that of a little boy who'd stolen his daddy's gear to play dress-up. When it was securely in place he took the hammer Rashid offered and hooked it through the loop on the side of his coveralls. A small apron made of multiple pouches went around his waist, and he followed the example of the other men by wrapping the ties all the way around once and tying them securely in front above the faded and stained canvas.  
  
Each pouch was filled with different tools of the trade; various sized nails rested next to an assortment of screws, a tape-measure shared space with a wax pencil, and the final pouch contained a variety of electrical connectors as well as some odds and ends which Quatre had no idea what they were used for. His first assignment was to help with framing. Giving Rashid a jaunty grin, he hurried off across the site in search of the man he was to report to.  
  
In a few weeks he would be back to wearing designer suits and shoes that cost more than he was comfortable with admitting, but for now the load on his shoulders was lighter than it had been for a long time; and that was a good thing. As he approached the foreman in charge of framing, a picture of Trowa flashed across his thoughts, putting a smile on his face. Maybe while he was on the Earth he would find where The Circus was and go see a show.  
  
  
 **Pilot 03 – Barton, Trowa**  
  
  
Trowa ignored the roar of the crowd, focusing instead on the speed and movement of the lion running a set orbit around the inside of the ring. With the practiced eye that came from thousands of hours of experience he hit his mark and flipped – once, twice, three times – before landing, balanced gracefully on one hand, on the animal's back. There was a beat of stunned silence before the audience erupted into a wave of sound that washed over and past Trowa, flowing around him like a rock in the middle of a rapidly moving stream. He acknowledged it on the edge of his focus in the same way he was always aware of the engine sounds that came from whatever vehicle he was driving or flying. Performing was his job and he was damn good at it, which was why he spent his time entertaining the crowds rather than because of any need to inflate his ego or spend time in the spotlight.  
  
Pushing up and off he did a back flip, and immediately upon landing dipped into a low bow with a flourish of his hand. Once again the crowd went wild, clapping and stomping until the tent and Trowa's ears rang from the sound. Keeping his head lowered so that his long fall of bangs covered the half of his face not protected by the mask, Trowa directed their attention up to where the trapeze artists were warming up. Counting to ten to make sure no one was still watching him, Trowa used the cover of the now-darkened ring to slip out of the tent unseen.  
  
His part of the show was over, so Trowa made his way back to the battered trailer that he shared with Cathy. Once the door was shut and locked behind him, he removed his mask and sat it down on the makeshift coffee table. He had built it out of some discarded crates not longer after his return to The Circus as a thank you to Cathy for taking him in a second time.  
  
From the living room he wandered into the bathroom, turning on the overhead light as well the strip of brighter bulbs over the sink. Using one of Cathy's headbands to hold his hair away from his face, he scrubbed it clean of the make-up that he used to absorb the sweat and oils that were part of being under the bright lights of the big top, and with a much gentler touch he removed the kohl from around his eyes. It was used to accentuated them and draw the gaze, making the stark contrast of the half mask that much more startling even when seen from a distance.  
  
Once his face was clean he returned the head band to the basket that Cathy kept them in and bent to let the water soak his hair. He'd need a shower later, but for now wetting it down took care of the residual stickiness of sweat and make up. His costume was next and as he towel dried his hair he walked down the hall to his room. It was small and sparse, but not lifeless. One of the many changes Trowa had made in his life since the end of the war. On his dresser was a picture of all five of the pilots and next to it was another of him and Quatre with their arms slung around each other's shoulders. Pinned to the wall beside his bed was a Christmas card he had received from Duo.  
  
Trowa made quick work of getting out of his costume then dropped it on the bed as a reminder to himself to make sure it was laundered in the morning. The towel joined it after Trowa gave himself a quick wipe-down, focusing on the areas where sweat pooled and created odor. He pulled on a pair of dark jeans and a worn t-shirt before lacing up his boots. A nondescript knit cap was used to hide his distinctive hair which allowed him to blend into the crew behind the scenes or the crowds of customers.  
  
He left the trailer as silently as he had arrived.  
  
His first stop was the lion's cage. Drawing in and holding his breath let him slip between the bars. Slowly, telegraphing his moves clearly, he dropped to a crouch in front of the drowsing animal and with one hand scratched behind the big cat's ears, smiling slightly when he leaned into it pushing against Trowa's hand for more contact. When the lion's eyes drifted closed, Trowa carded his hands into the rough hair of his mane, separating the hair where it was starting to mat and scratching when his fingers made contact with skin. After several minutes of quiet communion, Trowa gave the cat one last pat before making his way out of the cage.  
  
By the main entrance of the big top, people were milling around even though the show would not begin for another half-hour. Trowa frowned, studying them from the shadows. He'd never understood why someone would pay for a ticket and then not stay to see the whole performance, especially since the star acts were saved for the finale. It seemed wasteful to him, but then again he had never had a lot of money; so maybe that was the difference.  
  
Trowa's stomach twinged and then tightened the way it always did when he thought about how different he and his life were from that of the average civilian. Even in a place full of misfits like the circus he could blend in, but he still never really felt that he belonged. Every day this was becoming more clear and the knowledge brought with it a rapidly increasing desire to go. He wasn't sure where, but the restless feeling was growing until he could feel it as an almost physical itch on the soles of his feet.  
  
“You're going to leave.” Trowa could hear the resignation in Cathy's voice and it cut through his wandering thoughts to bring her and them both into razor sharp focus. She was dressed as casually as he was, with her copper-bright hair tucked under the hood of one of his sweatshirts.  
  
“Yes.” As much as knew it would hurt her he refused to lie and break the trust they had fought so hard to develop. “I never planned to stay here.”  
  
She nodded sadly and reached out to take his hand. “I figured you would go sooner or later... that this was just a place to clear your head at until you figured out what you wanted to do with your life.”  
  
Trowa pulled her close, tucking her head under his chin. “Not just. This place and you will never be a just. You gave me a home and taught me that I was more than a soldier.” They stood together in silence, both wrapped in their own thoughts as the muffled sound of applause filtered through the heavy material of the tent they sheltered in the shadow of.  
  
“Let me know where you end up.” Cathy tried to sound fierce and demanding, but the effect was ruined by the sound of tears in her voice.  
  
“Of course.” Trowa tightened his hold on her. “I'm leaving here, not you. Besides, I'm not going yet-- maybe by the end of the month. I want to give the manager some time to change things around.”  
  
“Tell him...” Cathy's voice cracked and she ducked her head. After a moment she tilted her head back to look Trowa in the face. Her voice was steady and she had her emotions under tight rein. “Tell him that if he hurts you, I will make him pay for the rest of my life.”  
  
“Cathy...” Trowa smiled, amusement and affection clearly showing on his face. “I doubt he even feels the same way I do. But that doesn't change the fact that I need to be where he is; I can feel him calling and I need to go. I want to go.” Neither spoke Quatre's name though they both knew who the other one was referring to. There was only one person besides Cathy that had ever had the power to walk through Trowa's emotions guards as if they weren't even there.  
  
“He does.” Her voice was thick with the conviction of someone who has seen the truth with her own eyes. “But he is not allowed to hurt you. Not ever, no matter what happens or how much of a brat you are.” Her eyes shone with unshed tears and her gaze bore into him. “If he does...” Her features tightened and she trailed off, leaving the statement no less threatening for being vague.  
  
Chuckling, he rested his head on her hair and closed his eyes. _I love you too._ he thought, hoping she knew and that one day he would be able to actually say the words to both of the people who had changed his life.  
  
  
 **Pilot 02 – Maxwell, Duo**  
  
  
“Damn it, Hilde, that's mine!” Duo made a grab across the table for the steamed bun that Hilde had snatched off his plate. She danced out of his reach, popping the treat into her mouth and making a big show of chewing. “I don't eat your taste-buds killing spicy ones you like!”  
  
“They aren't so bad.” She laughed, pushing her plate towards his in an offer to share her food. “Besides, I got the milder ones this time.”  
  
Showing a caution that he didn't use when dealing with explosives or mobile suits, Duo picked up one of the buns and bit into it; his eyes widened before he began chewing slowly. After swallowing he took a long drink, but he was smiling when he pulled back from the straw. “Those aren't bad. Still spicy, but they've got a nice flavor too.”  
  
“Told you.” Hilde smirked at him, ignoring the long-suffering look he shot back.  
  
Comfortable silence settled between them as they shared the buns on Hilde's plate. Even though he appeared relaxed and comfortable Duo's gaze was always on the move taking in the customers at the outdoor food stand as well as those that happened to be passing by. Hilde, on the other hand, kept her eyes on the food, seemingly lost in her thoughts.  
  
“So, I was thinking.”  
  
Duo paused in gathering up the trash, the seriousness in Hilde's voice clanging loud alarm bells in his head. “Did it hurt?” He shot her a smirk, trying to defuse the tension he could see in the line of her shoulders. When she didn't respond he frowned and gave her the opening she was clearly waiting for. “Yeah? About what?”  
  
“The letter you got the other day. The one from Preventers.” It had arrived by courier in a manila envelope and when she had asked what it was Duo had given her the brush-off.  
  
Frowning, Duo shifted the trash-filled tray to the side and leaned forward, his chin resting against his steepled fingers. “What about it?” He flinched at the defensive sound in his voice, but plowed on anyway. “I didn't know you were reading my mail.”  
  
Hilde gave him a look, visibly rolling her eyes. “It's not like I picked the lock on your pretty princess diary. You left it sitting on your desk. I found it because I was looking for the invoice for McPherson Scrap.”  
  
“Oh.” Duo blew out a breath that sent his bangs fluttering then slouched back in his seat. He really wasn't in a position to complain and he knew it, considering that he left the paperwork side of the business to Hilde. That meant she spent more time than she should scrounging through the mess on his desk, chasing down one document or another. For living in a technological age, there was still a disturbing amount of paper necessary to run the salvage yard.  
  
Hilde shrugged. Never one to hold a grudge, she accepted the implied apology and let go of her annoyance. It was one of the reasons they were best friends and worked well together. “Anyway. Like I said, I was thinking about the letter. Are you going to do it? Join the Preventers?”  
  
“I don't know.” Duo leaned back, studying the struts of the patio umbrella they were currently sitting under. “It's a good offer, but we've got the business and I don't want to leave you hanging. Plus I kinda like not having to listen to what anyone else tells me to do.”  
  
“I doubt that will be a problem no matter what career you pick.” Hilde's tone was dry enough to suck the moisture out of the air, but it carried with it an undercurrent of genuine affection. Her voice softened and she put a hand on Duo's arm to bring his gaze back to her. “You should do what you want. I don't want you to stay if you're not going to be happy.”  
  
“I am happy, Hil.”  
  
“But...” She smiled rubbing his arm lightly to encourage him to speak.  
  
“But as much as I love doing salvage and cleaning up the mess cluttering up space, it feels like I should be doing something more. I've got a lot to make up for.” When he met her eyes his face was serious, the joker's mask set aside in favor of the vulnerability that comes with raw honesty. “Working with Preventers would give me a chance to help people and maybe balance some of the bad karma I've got. That'd be a good thing. Right?”  
  
“Oh, Duo.” She slid around the seat until she close enough to pull him into an embrace. “You don't owe anybody anything. You fought because it was the right thing to do and you helped end the war. We owe you a debt, not the other way around.”  
  
He leaned into her, letting his head fall forward to rest on her shoulder. “That's why you're my favorite girl.”  
  
“I'm your only girl.” She laughed softly, rubbing soothing circles on his back. “There is another good reason for joining Preventers, you know.”  
  
“What?” The word was a bit muffled, but Hilde understood it clearly. Years of listening to Duo talk around whatever he was eating had paid off in strange ways.  
  
“I bet Commander Une knows where Heero is and I know you've been trying to find him.”  
  
Duo stiffened, then pulled away slowly. “What makes you say that?”  
  
“I love you, Duo, and you can be stealthy but you are not subtle. I've known you had feelings for him since the first time I saw you guys together.”  
  
“That means everybody else does too.” He let his head fall forward again to rest on her shoulder. “You don't think..?”  
  
“No.” Putting her hands on either side of his head she pushed until Duo was looking at her. “He had his own things to figure out, just like you did.” Grinning, she added. “That doesn't mean he gets to stay lost forever, though. He just got a reprieve like the rest of you guys.”  
  
Duo closed his eyes for a moment, conflicting emotions flitting across his face. When he opened them they sparked with humor and excitement. “Hey, Hilde, wanna run away and join Preventers with me?”  
  
Smirking back in a way that promised no end of grief for anyone who happened to cross her path Hilde took his hand and shook it firmly. “Yep. I'm not going to let you go out there and get into trouble without me. That's what best friends are for, watching each others' backs.”  
  
  
 **Pilot 01 – Yuy, Heero**  
  
  
  
From his vantage point on the raised walkway, Heero surveyed the streets below. He had no mission, no reason to be studying the crowd, but the instinct was so much a part of him he didn't think about it anymore. Hyperawareness of the people around him and what they might be doing at any given moment was not something he even had conscious control over anymore. It wasn't like putting down his gun and saying that he was never going to use it again.  
  
Not that that had worked too well either. He'd meant what he said right before passing out, much to his embarrassment, in Relena's arms. He was tired of war and destruction, of seeing people only as enemies and places only for their strategic value. The decision to leave, to get out and see the world he had helped to save had seemed almost inevitable in retrospect. He had stayed long enough to train Relena's security detail and to make sure that she would be safe. With the end of the second eve war and the dawning of an era of true peace, he was now even more convinced that she had a strong role to play in the direction the future would go.  
  
However, he had fought and survived two wars which was much more than he had ever expected to do. In a world where words were as powerful as beam canons and people like Relena and Quatre held the reins of power instead of Treize and Dekim Barton, he wasn't sure where or even if he fit; not every sword was malleable enough to be molded into a plowshear. Wufei had found a place within the Preventers and the other pilots now had homes, after a sort, to go back to; but for Heero there was nothing but memories and more of the life he was already living.  
  
His skill set was limited to the tools of war; and unlike Trowa, who had also been raised to be a soldier, he didn't have any others to fall back on. Quatre had offered him a job doing anything that he wanted to do, but the problem was that he had no idea what that was. At no time in his life up to this point, had he ever given a thought to what he wanted, not even in the small things such as what he preferred to eat, drink or wear. Bottom line (and Heero was a bottom line kind of guy), he had no idea who he was outside of a framework of fighting and death.  
  
It was disorienting; and if there was one thing that Heero Yuy did not do well with, it was being out of his comfort-zone and off balance. Lack of knowledge or situational understanding tended to tweak his already-paranoid nature in ways that made him dangerous to himself and to others. What he needed was a mission, a purpose that would give him focus and meaning again. Not just any ideal would do, either; it needed to be something that he could buy into with all the emotion and logic that drove him.  
  
Below and to the right a bank of TVs in the window of an electronics store flashed the picture of a familiar face, one that had rarely left his thoughts since their confrontation over Heero's attempt to shoot Relena. Heero froze in his tracks for a split second before speeding up, heading for the stairs that would take him back to street-level. He wove through the crowd of people, ignoring them now as his focus narrowed to his target: the store. Taking the stairs two or three at at a time, he was on the sidewalk and in front of the store in less than a minute; inside, he brushed past the salesman, ignoring his attempt at an opening spiel. Coming to a halt in front of the largest screen, he picked up the remote control and turned up the volume.  
  
 _“...raid by Preventers in conjunction with local law enforcement seized several thousand pounds of illegally-procured Gundanium, along with a stockpile of weapons of mass destruction. Commander Une was quoted as saying that the world was a safer place today as a result of the hard work of the men and women under her command. She went on to state that the Preventers are still recruiting and that anyone interested in keeping the peace and unfraid to get his or her hands dirty should consider applying. In other news...”_  
  
Heero muted the TV and then sat down the remote. Even from behind and at a distance there was no mistaking Duo's braid or Trowa's overgrown bangs. With Wufei that meant three of the five had made their way to the Preventers. _Four,_ he corrected himself, as the memory of an interview he had seen with Quatre forced itself to the surface. Quatre had mentioned working part-time for the Preventers in various capacities as time with WEI and his other responsibilities allowed.  
  
If each of the four, with their diverse backgrounds and personalities, had found a way to fit within the confines of the Preventers, then maybe Heero had been wrong to dismiss the idea of joining. It would be a way to use his skills, not as a soldier or terrorist, but as something different. He would be part of the system that was working to maintain the peace: true peace, not the restless fear-driven quiet of a tyrannical dictator's rule.  
  
The few people he truly trusted to watch his back and to understand the life he had lived were all there just waiting for him to join them.  
  
 _Follow your emotions, Heero. Be true to what it is your heart is telling you._  
  
Heero froze, one foot raised mid-step as his eyes darted around, searching for Odin. The voice was so clear that for the flash of a second Heero was in a different place and time. He shook his head, clearing it, and resumed walking; outwardly he was as calm as he had been, even though his mind was reeling. “I don't know what my heart wants,” he told the phantom voice, whispering so softly that the words were barely spoken out loud. “I keep trying to listen to it, but nothing is clear.”  
  
 _Listen harder and let yourself hear the truth instead of what you are trying to make it say. You always were a stubborn boy. Determined to do things your own way. Open your eyes and see. Really see._  
  
The voice faded and once again Heero faltered, unsure of where he was. When his mind cleared he realized that he had come to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk while the rest of the crowd maneuvered around him. With a single glance he noted that he was outside the main entrance of the space port, staring right at a recruitment poster for the Preventers.  
  
“I understand, old man.” Heero muttered to himself, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Even dead you're still as subtle as a Gundam transport.” With a clarity of purpose he had not had in longer than he cared to think about he pushed through the doors and approached the bank of ticket windows that lined one wall.  
  
“One way to Earth, Geneva space port.” Heero pulled out a handful of crumpled credits and placed them on the counter, watching as the clerk straightened and counted them. He had just enough for a ticket and an inflight meal. Fate, it seemed, was keeping as close an eye on him as Odin was.  
  
Ticket in hand, he crossed to the security gate; and for the space of a second he swore he could hear the sound of Odin's laughter echoing down the tiled hallway. Heero shook his head and tried not to think too hard about the conversation that had just occurred or what it might mean. Smiling slightly, he handed over his ticket then quickly made his way to the shuttle that would ferry him to his future.


End file.
